


From Ashes, We Shall Return

by theinspiredginger



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Depression, Derek Hale Feels, Derek Has Feelings, Derek Has Issues, Derek and Stiles are Mates, Drunk Derek, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, Ghost Stiles Stilinski, Guilt, Hale Family Feels, Hallucinations, Hurt Derek, Hurt Stiles, M/M, Mainly angst, Mates, Memories, POV Derek Hale, Past Character Death, Rebuilding the Hale House, Self-Destruction, Some Humor, Stiles Takes Care Of Derek, Stiles and Derek watch the stars, Stiles helps Derek deal with his feelings, The Hale Fire, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Werewolves, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 20:01:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/690883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theinspiredginger/pseuds/theinspiredginger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles convinces Derek to rebuild the Hale House with the pack. Along the way, he helps Derek rebuild himself and rise from the ashes. Derek learns to trust and love Stiles as well as himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From Ashes, We Shall Return

**Author's Note:**

> OK I FINALLY EDITED THIS! I still don't like a lot of it but i literally could NOT stand to even look at this without effing CRINGING. so for those who read this crap the first time you might think, where the fuck did trevor go? yeah well, trevor doesn't exist anymore so bye bye trevor. This was a new take on what I wanted. Tell me what y'all think!

The rebuilt Hale Mansion shone with a white crisp glory. It had been Stiles’ idea.

_Pack Bonding Derek! We’ll just do it ourselves! C’mon. We’ll build it together. We can design just like before or we can make it our own, something completely different! How hard can it be? We’ll all help. We’ll make it into our home. I mean our weekly house rotation for pack meetings is great, but we need a home, a base. And I’ll be damned if we make a subway station our home._

It hadn’t taken all that long. Stiles had been right: seven werewolves and a trio of badass humans made building a house look like a piece of cake. And Pack Bonding indeed. It had united the pack concretely. It helped ease the tension between Erica and Boyd and Derek. Jackson got to work out some of his fears and guilt from all the lives he’d taken as the Kanima. Peter apologized to Lydia, and while it took some time, she eventually forgave him and the def-con level had lowered to a normal 4. Scott and Allison worked out their up and down, on and off, relationship and were able to actually have a working relationship with the hunters. Most importantly, Derek was able to work on his guilt and self hatred. Nothing solves deep seated issues like ripping apart old walls with a chainsaw.

It had been during the second month of the rebuild that he had caught Stiles sitting a on a pile of lumber in the backyard. The crescent moon was shining and Stiles had been staring up at the stars. Derek normally came out there to talk with his family members. He felt that if he was quiet enough he could hear their voices, their laughs. He’d been shocked to find Stiles there. He’d sat next to Stiles and they had shared a communal silence. Stiles had exhaled heavily then broke the quiet atmosphere.

"Sometimes I think I can hear her laugh. My mom's, I mean. When its quiet, and I'm all alone. I used to hear it in the wind. It's why I keep my bedroom window open." Stiles didnt look at Derek; his eyes roamed over the stars as he pretended to be enraptured in the constellations. "I noticed you come out here a lot."

"When it's clear like this," Derek gestured to the cloudless sky, "it reminds me of the times we'd go running. My little sister was scared of the dark, and she'd only go with us if it was clear so she could see the stars. My parents used to point out the constellations, and Peter would tell them to shut up because no one cared. We'd all laugh and make up our own." 

"Do you remember any of the ones you created?" Stiles spoke softly, as if any increase in volume would shatter the moment and have it disappear into the night.

"I made exactly three. Turned out everyone I made up was an actual constellation."

"And..."

"Ironically, one was lupus, which Peter thought was just hilarious. Have you ever seen lupus? It looks absolutely nothing like a wolf."

"When can you see it?"

"Normally around June, we just missed it I guess."

"Were the other two as ironic?"

"Not really. But just as funny maybe. I was embarrassed and a little angry because Peter kept making fun of me, so I just drew a random line in the sky and called it a dragon. It was Draco."

"How does a random line create a blonde wizard?"

"Draco as in Dragon, idiot." 

"Dragon? Well, that adds some symbolism to the whole HP series. I should write a letter."

"Shut up."

"Are you going to make me keep asking for each constellation or--"

"Well, maybe if you didn't keep going on tangents--"

"Oh my god it was one _totally_ justifiable tangent."

"Whatever. Anyway, well, at this point I was really upset so I pointed out three random stars and said it was triangle. I gave up the creating constellations deal when my mom said it was actually Triangulum something."  Stiles had slipped down onto the grass beside Derek. They both laid on their backs looking up at the white orbs lighting up the midnight sky.

 

"Do you see those stars over there? There's like three close together then another and then that one way over there? Do you see 'em?"

"Yeah."

"It's totally a unicorn. I'm naming it Anna."

"Anna's a terrible name for a unicorn."

"Fine, I'll name it Derek then." Stiles could feel the glare and the pinched eyebrows coming his way. He laughed as he spotted another makeshift constellation. "Oh my god. Do you see over there? That kind of group of stars? and then another little group right next to 'em?" Derek nodded, then vocalized an "mm-hmm" when he realized Stiles wasn't looking at him, "I'm calling that one Sourwolf because it looks like your eyebrows." Derek rolled his eyes then pointed to a spot in the sky.

"Do you see that big star right there? I'll call the blank space right next to it Stiles' humor." Stiles laughed.

"And people say you aren't funny. Seriously, I try to tell people but they don't believe me."

Derek was quiet and words bubbled to his mouth. He was suddenly compelled to talk about the fire, about everything that happened leading up to it and everything after. He'd never told anyone and suddenly the weight of it was heavy on his chest. Derek felt the weight push him down into the damp grass. Soon the words started spilling out of him. He hadn't even conciously decided to talk; it'd been out of his control. But He talked and talked and left out no details. He told Stiles everything, from what had happened to how he felt and thought throughout the entire ordeal. He talked about Kate and how she'd tricked him, how he'd been called to the school's front office and had seen Laura sitting there staring at the wall, and how there were tear stains on her cheek but she refused to cry in front of him. He talked about how he could smell Peter's flesh as he tried to heal and the smell of the rest of his family seemed to be burned into Peter. He talked about his and Laura's flee to New York and all the flee bitten motel rooms they stayed in. And how he thought that he'd started to heal, that he finally saw a light at the end of the tunnel. But then Laura wanted to make a trip back to Beacon Hills only to never come back.

 

He hadn’t realized when he’d started crying but he felt Stiles wiping his face with the sleeve of his flannel shirt. They stayed there all night, the wet grass seeping through their shirts and pants and the constellations meltng into the dawn. 

 

 

It grew from there. It started with just Stiles, but soon reached out to the entire pack. Derek began expressing himself more and more. His orders had reasons and his statements had backstories. The whole pack solidified even more and a true unity became visible. Derek began to heal, to deal with the grief, for real this time. For so long he had never truly mourned his family. He had lived through the grief by blaming himself, punishing himself for their deaths. As much as he'd taken to talking with them underneath the stars, Derek visited the cemetery.  He hadn't been there in years, and he actually thought he’d forgotten where they were buried because the small corner he’d known them to be had purple irises and yellow daisies on each grave. As he’d approached he’d noticed that they had slightly wilted.

His heart clenched when he thought of Peter coming out here without him, that Peter had to deal with this alone for so many years and even now felt like he couldn't lean on him. Derek spent a little over an hour at the graves and decided to make weekly visits.

Each visit he was greeted by new bouquets of flowers. Each week a different arrangement, a different color scheme. And each time he vowed to go home and tell Peter. And each week he kept it to himself. It was six months later when he had parked on the opposite side of the cemetery when he found it. He was walking back from the Hale plot when he noticed a bouquet similar to those laying in front of his family members graves. He walked across the small cemetery and reached the blooming pink and orange bouquet. He rounded around the headstone and upon reading the etched name all the air escaped his lungs.

Holly Marie Stilinski

He knelt to the ground and placed a tentative hand on the top of the grave marker. He sat with her for a long time, not saying a word. As he stood to leave, a small smile crept over his lips.

 _“Stiles....he’s a special person. A really,_ really _good person.”_ The words sounded corny and didn't come close to encompassing everything he felt. He shooks his head and squeezed the headstone a little tighter. " _I know you're proud."_

The next week Derek went a few days early and he switched the wilting flowers on his family’s graves and replaced them himself with bright yellow daisies. He held an extra bouquet in his hands and placed them beside Stiles’ mother’s grave.

It was a few days later when Stiles had ran into the kitchen where Derek was washing the pots used to make breakfast. His eyes were moist and his hand shaking a small bit.

_“Derek, did you--?” Stiles let the words hang in the air as Derek nodded.  
“I figured it was about time I returned the favor.” _

One year turned to two then three. Two little werewolf pups ran around in the yard. The proud parents Allison and Scott beaming down at their exuberant little faces. They squealed as Erica chased them around, a small, but brilliant diamond glistening on her ring finger. Boyd smiled when he caught her eye and she growled and bared her teeth playfully in return.

Jackson and Isaac were finishing their last year at college, graduating later than everyone else. Jackson had taken a few years off to go to counseling about his stint as the Kanima, because pack cuddles and bonding can only heal so much. Isaac took a few off to reflect and take some time for himself. While none of the pack had a normal upbringing, turning into werewolves and constantly being under attack was the most normal of Isaac’s childhood. He took the time to deal with his anger and resentment, working on his self hatred with support from the rest of the pack.

In all the hustle and bustle, the years flew. Everything was looking up. Somewhere along the way, a second house was built. A small cottage off to the side of the main house. It too was white, but it had yellow shutters and a pebble pathway to the front door. A cute, painted wood sign hung on the picket fence’s gate. It was painted in yellow and green, loopy handwriting spelled out “La Casa de Señor Alpha y Little Red Riding Hoodie-o”. The “S” and “e” in Señor were smudged from where Derek wiped his thumb across the wet paint.

_“Are you serious? What’s so bad about La Casa de Sourwolfo and Mate?”_   
_“Well for one, you can’t just add an ‘o’ onto things to make it Spanish. And two, I thought you were the one to say that you were glad my ‘stoic and broody’ phase was over?”_   
_“Yeah, well the face you’re making now is DEFINITELY a Sourwolf face mister. But fine, fine. How bout Der? OW! Jeez, I was just kidding. What about Senor Alpha, huh? You smirked I’ll take that as a yes.” Stiles swirled the letters to write out the agreed upon title._   
_“And don’t put ‘and Mate’. It demeans you.” Stiles rolled his eyes._   
_“Picky picky picky. Okay, what about El Abominable Snowmano?”_   
_“What?”  
 _“Were you not there for that part of the Matt horror show? Ok. Ummm OH! What was I thinking?!” Stiles eagerly painted out the remainder of the sign and wore a smug smile. Derek scrunched his eyebrows together, a smile forming on his face._  
 _“That isn’t how you--”_  
 _“OH MY GOD AGAIN WITH THE SPANISH.”__

The cottage was their own private retreat, their home. While the big Hale Manison had been restored and had plenty of space for the lot of them. They had wanted something for themselves, a little slice of privacy every once in awhile. They spent ten great years there.

Ten wonderful years full of fights over what to eat for dinner, laughs over scenes from movies they’d watched a thousand times over, quiet moments when Derek would carefully roll out of bed to start the coffee on Saturday mornings, the clatter of pots and pans as Stiles cooked dinner for his father, Derek, and himself on Thursday nights, the squeals of Scott’s two kids as they ran around the house when they came on visits followed by not so subtle hints from Peter about adoption options, the constant buzz of banter that bounced around the small house from its numerous visitors.

Derek had risen from the ashes. He’d healed and forgiven himself for his family. He’d rebuilt his home, himself, his pack. He’d created a new life for himself and he loved it more than anything. He’d made mistakes and he continued to make them, but he had a family and pack and they would help him learn and grow. They strengthened him and he them. He’d found his mate. He’d been completed and accepted and loved more than he ever thought possible. He’d found someone, Stiles, that knew every deep dark secret, every flaw, every shadow, and didn't run for cover. Not only did he not shy away he embraced Derek, and loved him despite it all and loved some of the flaws, themselves. They’d created a new life together and one magnificent decade had ever passed so fast.

 

The cottage wasn’t pristine white anymore though. And it wasn’t dingy from ten good years of use. The swinging gate held on by sheer luck and the pebble pathway had been replaced by dust. No laughter filled the small cottage nor the mansion nor the entire property. There was no pitter pattering of little feet. There was no wrestling in the backyard. There was no smell of cinnamon pancakes. There were no half hearted grumblings about pack meetings.

There was a burnt hobble hanging on by a thread. Two blackened shutters remained, the rest lay in broken pieces on the dried soil. The glass windows were broken and the painted sign had scorch marks where the paint hadn’t melted.

He clutched the worn red fabric in his hands, another tear rolling down his cheek. The red hoodie. The last thing he had of Stiles. And how fitting, considering Stiles had always referred to himself as Little Red. Derek’s fingers rubbed the fibers as he convinced himself that Stiles’ scent hadn’t completely disappeared from the article. They had had ten good years together. Ten great years. Derek squeezed his eyes as he remembered Stiles’ head thrown back laughing at Derek’s “sourwolf face”.

_C’mon Der, quit the big bad wolf act! You know I’m hilarious! My dog jokes just keep getting better and better! You know I was only kidding about the doggy-door!_

Derek had grown pale from lack of sun exposure and he hair was salt and peppered. He may have been 41 but he looked close to sixty. His eyes were blood red, and not from his Alpha status. He hadn’t slept in years, not really. He’d pass out every couple days or so but that was purely from survival extinct, which Derek daily prayed would just go away. Derek reached out and grabbed the nearest amber bottle and broke the neck of it off, bringing the jagged edge to his lips. The blood mixed with beer, but the disgusting sludge it formed and his masochistic ways only made Derek continue to drink.

_Derek, you’re a werewolf not an ANIMAL. Jesus._

Derek rolled his eyes but put the bottle down, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

 _Great improvement. Really._ Derek smiled at the sarcasm he missed so dearly.

“Stiles…” He knew the voice was only in his mind, but he lived for when he got to talk to him.

_Seriously, Derek. You could have at least warned me, before I agreed to be your mate, that you were a complete and total barbarian._

“You’re an idiot.” Derek smirked and let his head fall back against the wall.

 _And_ you’re _an asshole. I mean really, is that anyway to speak to the love of your life? I think not._

  
“You’re one to talk.”

_Well, I NEVER. Derek chuckled. Wipe that smile off your face, meanie._

“Meanie?”

_My god, stop it with the eyebrows already. AND the eye rolling, didn’t think I’d see that did you! You’re gonna sprain a muscle doing that!_

“Great mental picture, thanks for that.”

_OH shuddup._

Derek was silent for a moment. He could practically feel Stiles’ leaning his head against his shoulder, and bristle of his short hair against his skin. Stiles would look up and stick his tongue out.

“I’m sorry, Stiles. I’m so so sorry This is all my fault.” The sob broke through his chest and he pulled the red hoodie to cover his face, what was left of Stiles’ scent engulfing him. Memories of Stiles’ screams echoing through the forest and Derek and the sound of the rest of the pack racing toward their home. The smell of burning wood and flesh and the sound of Derek’s name being screeched from inside.

_Shhh, Derek. It’s not your fault. Derek stop. It’s okay. I’m okay. Derek, I’m right here._

But he wasn’t. Not really.

“I miss you, Stiles.”

  
_I know. I miss you too._


End file.
